


Be Mine

by mrs_d



Series: Dead Ends [10]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Jake is such a fangirl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 07:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15792288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: “Welcome to my crime scene, Avengers!”





	Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calliope_Soars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliope_Soars/gifts).



> This was supposed to be longer, but I ran out of steam.

Sam swooped low, cut the thrusters, and landed smoothly on the rooftop kitty-corner to the address he’d been given. The shop had a faded purple awning and a green sign with the word _Blossoming_ on it in yellow print _._ The sidewalk in front of it was cordoned off with yellow tape and swarming with uniformed officers. The crime scene looked oddly normal: broken glass littering the sidewalk, and grubby slips of paper fluttering into the gutter. Pedestrians barely looked up from their phones as they gave the place a wide berth; no one even stopped to take a picture.

Sam wondered why he was here. If it weren’t for Steve, who looked a little ridiculous wearing his star-spangled outfit in the midst of a busy New York street below, Sam would have guessed that he had the wrong place. Nothing about it seemed to dictate an Avengers presence.

But Steve had called, and Sam was starting to come to terms with the fact that he had trouble refusing the guy— whether that meant getting out of bed at 4AM three days a week for a jog, or punching aliens in New Jersey, or this, whatever this was.

He felt a little foolish for having dropped all his plans and flying here as fast as he could, since it clearly wasn’t as much of an emergency as he’d feared it would be, but he couldn’t change anything about that now. He had to get down to street level, and he had no other way of doing it. So he turned his wings back on and hopped off the ledge.

Steve looked up and smiled at the sound of Sam’s approach. Unlike the police officer he was talking to, Steve didn’t step back as Sam landed. Sam appreciated that kind of trust in his abilities, though he worried that one of these days he would ruin it by landing on Steve’s foot.

“Sam, hi,” Steve greeted him, once Sam had folded his wings. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem,” Sam replied. “Though I have to admit, I expected a little more action.”

“On the contrary, there’s plenty of action,” said the police officer. He had a grave face, flat intonation; Sam wondered if he was being sarcastic, but the man stuck out his hand a second later. “I’m Captain Raymond Holt of the 99th precinct. Right this way.”

“Sure,” said Sam. He exchanged a glance with Steve, and Steve shrugged.

“No-nonsense type,” he muttered. Sam nodded in agreement.

“There they are,” cried a voice, as Sam and Steve ducked under the tape to follow Holt. Sam looked up, saw a younger man with dark hair and an NYPD windbreaker come out of the store. A badge hung around his neck, framing a crooked tie. “Welcome to my crime scene, Avengers!”

“This is Detective Jake Peralta,” Holt announced. “One of my best.”

“Aw, Captain,” said the detective, like it was a reflex, but then his eyes went wide. “Captain _Holt,_ that is,” he corrected himself. “Not you, Captain America, though I am _so_ pumped you’re here.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at Steve, who gave him an equally bemused expression in return. Sam was getting used to meeting fans, but Peralta was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Holt, meanwhile, was as somber as ever, though Sam thought he detected a hint of an eyeroll at Peralta’s enthusiasm. “Jake, focus.”

“Right. Cool. Just— the Avengers are here, you know, no big thang,” Peralta drawled.

“Why don’t you show them what you found?” Holt suggested.

“Ooh, right,” Peralta exclaimed, bouncing again. “Come on in, you’re gonna love this.”

He led them through the shattered front door of the shop. Sam didn’t know where to look — everything was a mess, and he felt a pang of sympathy for the owners. Product displays that had likely taken hours to prepare were ruined; the interior walls were lined with shelves that were littered with smashed vases and broken knickknacks; the floor under Sam’s feet crunched with grit, making him wince with every step.

“What’d they take?” Steve asked.

“Money,” said Peralta, “but that’s not the point.”

“It’s not?” asked Sam, surprised.

“No.” They’d reached the back of the store, which was just as messy, though in other ways. The counter and cash register was currently being dusted for fingerprints by a handful of uniformed officers. Peralta made a twisting gesture with his hands. “Behold!”

Sam frowned. There was a flower cooler off to one side, but nothing seemed out of place, except that it was empty. “What am I looking at?”

“They took flowers, too,” said Steve with the air of a wild guess.

“Nope,” Peralta answered him gleefully. “But close.”

“Knock it off with the guessing games, Jake,” said a new voice. A woman in a leather jacket had emerged from the doorway behind the cash register. She barely gave Steve and Sam a glance. “Just bring them back here.”

“Okay, fine,” Peralta sighed. “Avengers, meet Detective Rosa Diaz. She really likes to spoil my fun,” he added under his breath.

Diaz rolled her eyes — it was much more pronounced than Holt — and stepped aside, letting Peralta lead the way. Sam lagged behind, waiting for Holt, but he was outside again, overseeing the police photographer by the looks of it.

“Oh,” said Steve suddenly. “My god.”

“Yep,” Peralta replied. Sam glanced at him before stepping into the back room. Peralta still looked upbeat, so it couldn’t have been a body or anything gruesome, but what—

“Whoa,” Sam heard himself say, when he finally got a look at what they were seeing.

“Yep,” said Peralta again.

The back room was filled — overflowing — with flowers. They were crammed in every space, between items on shelves, stuffed into drawers, poking out of the ribbon rack.

“Watch your step,” said Diaz, stopping him with a hand on his arm. She nodded at the floor, and when Sam looked down, his jaw dropped even more.

“And _that’s_ why you’re here,” Peralta declared proudly.

At Sam’s feet were at least a dozen red and white roses, laid out end-to-end to form an enormous three-letter word: S-A-M. Beneath the word were more roses, their stems cut off and the flowers arranged into a heart.

“This,” said Diaz, handing Sam a bag with a pink note inside, “was in the middle of the heart. It’s how we knew to call you.”

Sam frowned down at the note. The handwriting was unfamiliar— big and loopy, the i’s dotted with tiny hearts. He read the poem twice before handing it to Steve.

_Dearest Falcon,_

_Roses are red,_  
_Violets are blue._  
_Will you catch me,_  
_So I can catch you?_

_With love,_  
_The Accidental Mercenary_

Steve made a face as he read it. Sam looked away to find Peralta and Diaz watching him closely.

“Do you recognize that name?” Peralta asked, sounding like a cop for the first time since Sam had met him.

“No,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I have no idea who that is.”

“The handwriting, have you seen it before?” asked Diaz.

“I don’t think so,” Sam answered.

“How about crazy exes? You got any of those?”

“No,” Sam said with more certainty.

“Have you ever had a stalker, or has anyone made any threats against you lately?” Diaz pressed.

Steve coughed at that question, and when Sam looked at him, his cheeks colored. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve answered quickly, with a shake of his head.

“What is it, Captain America?” Peralta asked. “Do you know anything about this?”

Steve exhaled through his nose and handed him back the note. “You know, you can just call me Steve,” he said, and it looked like he was suppressing a smile. “And no, I don’t know anything about this.”

A look shot between Peralta and Diaz, almost too quick for Sam to catch. “Okay, then,” Peralta said smoothly. “We should put you in protective custody, Falcon, or at least get a surveillance team on you.”

“You’re joking,” said Steve incredulously. “You don’t think he’s safe with me?”

Peralta blinked. “Right. Sorry. I forgot—”

“Still,” Diaz interrupted. “This sort of thing can get pretty twisted, pretty fast. We should take it seriously.”

“You’re right,” said Steve. “You work it from your end, and we’ll tackle it from our side. Keep in touch?”

“Yes!” said Peralta. He sounded like a kid on Christmas morning, and his enthusiasm only dimmed slightly when Steve turned his gaze on him. “I mean, yes. Yes, we’ll keep in touch. Take this seriously, of course. Of course.”

Steve stuck out his hand for Peralta to shake then, and Sam was glad he did; he had a feeling that Peralta wouldn’t have stopped talking otherwise. They exchanged contact information, and Sam followed when Steve headed for the door.

“Rosa, he touched me! Did you see? Did you see?” Sam heard Peralta exclaim behind them.

Sam didn’t need to turn around; he could hear Diaz rolling her eyes from here. He and Steve exchanged a look as they walked away. No doubt, this was gonna be interesting.  


End file.
